


Wolfblooded

by crookedneighbour



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Alpha/Beta/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Blackmail, Crack Treated Seriously, Dubious Consent, First Time, Furry, Kemonomimi, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Power Play, The Knot, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-04 15:32:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17900798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedneighbour/pseuds/crookedneighbour
Summary: The Starks haven't had a wolfblooded heir in a long time, long enough that an air of mystery surrounds the Young Wolf. Every full moon Robb Stark has to be kept separate of his men, and rumors fly as to why. Most of them are wary of it, where as Roose Bolton is suspicious of the claim there is something spectacular about the young king, beyond the ears and tail that mark him as beast kin. Meanwhile, poor Olyvar Frey is assigned to keep Robb free of those who would have audience with him. Both Olyvar and Roose end up surprised.





	Wolfblooded

**Author's Note:**

> Aside from being an A/B/O AU, where Roose is during Robb's campaign is a little different than it is in canon. 
> 
>  
> 
> I don't go into this that much, but generally houses with animal sigils occasionally have house members born with features related to that creature, it's rare, and in the case of the Starks, hasn't happened in a long time (much like warging in canon), and is part of Robb's link to Greywind.
> 
>  
> 
> Hear this read on Watchers in the Bar!  
> https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/frisky-fiction/id1453765560?i=1000441356581

A full moon hung over the Stark encampment outside Riverrun. The beast kin families made omens of such things, but Roose Bolton was entirely uninterested in superstition. Sure they might have a few spare parts, but such houses were the same as any other man— beneath their pelts they bled all the same.

Robb Stark had taken to shutting himself off on the full moon and his bannermen had spouted some nonsense about the wolfblood overwhelming him into a beast. This sounded equal parts unlikely and idiotic. He would find it otherwise and put their superstition to rest. He had the letter from Ramsay he had withheld in the afternoon- how auspicious the timing had been- if he needed an excuse for his urgency.

Olyvar Frey stood outside the door that led to Robb’s room. The Freys were like the Boltons in that they had no animal counterpart, and it played a role in how and why the other great houses snubbed them. Olyvar was no Black Walder and would show his belly when push came to shove.

Olyvar stood several long strides before the door to Robb, with bleary eyes and crossed arms to match the hour. He wore the ubiquitous leather hat of his brethren. He looked nervous on noting Roose’s approach.

“No one is to see his grace,” Olyvar touted, doing his best to sound stern and imposing. His brothers called him Olyvar the Uncertain.

“Lord Walder Frey and I have an understanding,” Roose asserted. Best to be vague.

“He may be my father, but Robb is all our King.”

Roose stepped closer. The boy was armed of course, but that was not on Roose’s lists of concerns for the evening. Standing a few steps below him now, they were at eye level.

“By my count you have more older brothers than years. Your father would hardly grieve you. The stairs are steep and Robb Stark does dote on you so. A few cups of Dornish wine are enough to make a boy your size ungainly on his feet.”

Olyvar frowned and attempted to stand taller, but the boy was clearly shaking. Roose let the weight of his words sit with him a moment.

“Go on, Frey.”

Roose walked past him, Olyvar turning his shoulder in submission. If he were in danger from some beast, it’d require more than a boy his age as guard.

Roose looked back once more and gave Olyvar a brief forced smile.

“Robb will thank you. You have my word.”

Roose opened the door to Robb’s chamber quickly, shutting it behind him with the same urgency.

A caged fire burned in the center of Robb’s room and the young king sat close to it, bundled in furs. Greywind lay next to him, the two of them a mass of grey and brown fur except for where Robb’s auburn tail and ears stuck out from the heap. Both the boy and the wolf’s ears twitched and each turned to face Roose. 

They were of a similar expression, narrow eyed and grimacing. Robb seemed tired though. The war had worn on him, even with the edge of youthfulness. 

Greywind approached snarling, but Robb seemed more surprised than fearful or angry. Robb sniffed the air a moment and a look of unease passed over his face. It was difficult to tell what to make of his behavior, but something was clearly amiss.

“Down,” Robb commanded idly. The dire wolf still stood between them, his ears stiff and eyes narrowed at Roose. Little seemed off about the scene except that Robb hadn’t taken to bed. There was plenty that could be troubling him, the loss of his father, the fate of his sisters, but why the need to sequester himself?

“I said no one is to see me now. How did you make it here?” Robb snapped, looking back to the fire.

“Olyvar Frey is a wooden shield. Good against arrows in the field, but bound to break beneath a mace,” Roose replied softly. “Besides, I have news of Theon Greyjoy’s travel to Pyke.”

 "Approach then. It's cold, and I'll deal with Olyvar later."

Greywind left as swiftly as he approached. The direwolf then settled onto the floor in a noticeably long posture, his back and front legs both extended while his head lay directly on the ground.

Roose did as he was bid. Now that he was closer it was clear Robb was undressed beneath the furs. His ginger tail swished idly as Roose approached. 

Robb looked up as Roose stood across the crackling fire. The boy seemed amused by something, but there was a sadness to him as well. He doubted Theon's loyalty perhaps, and rightfully so. The Greyjoys were pirates and reavers, bound to the wind and prone to put wealth before words.

"Go on then, Lord Bolton, you've made it to my side. Tell me of Theon Greyjoy," Robb hummed. The boy looked Roose over thoughtfully. Roose stared back. He was weary of being commanded and it would do well to make the boy wait, even if only a few breaths longer.

"The queer thing--"

"The queer thing is how you stare at me, Lord Bolton," Robb interrupted.

Roose's lip twitched briefly in annoyance. Perhaps every full moon, Robb Stark became even more insufferable and block headed than his father and Brandon combined.

"No more than any man," Roose answered flatly. 

Robb's voice shook as he made his next reply. There was something beneath his stubbornness as well. The boy postured himself taller, and the furs slid from his shoulders, revealing the freckled skin beneath had flushed red. 

"I have no patience for your games, and veiled threats. Perhaps my father was right to be wary of you. Tell me of Theon, then depart," Robb snapped.

Robb was surprisingly bold in his tone. Roose had perhaps underestimated the boy. He'd mistaken the nature of Roose's aim perhaps, but taking a skin was much the same one way or another. Roose doubted the boy would follow up on his bluff though. He was brave and headstrong, but he was no match for a man grown.

"I've offended you. Allow me to pour your wine. It will calm your nerves and it will not require much more of my presence than you've already endured," Roose offered. Power was best sweetened by courtesy, and boys and men alike were best softened with drink.

"Fine, but do be on with it," Robb replied gruffly. 

"Theon Greyjoy was last seen departing from Seagard. No ravens have come from Pyke, and there is no telling of Balon Greyjoy's decision for good or for ill," Roose explained, choosing one of the open bottles of Dornish Red Robb had already opened. Roose poured with a heavy hand into a copper cup featuring a relief of three trout leaping from a stream.

"My bastard has offered to ride west and make sure the coast is reinforced," Roose continued. He held the wine out to Robb, now closer than he had been before.

Robb frowned at his news, and took the drink reluctantly. Regardless, Robb took a long sip. The remaining furs fell about his waist. The hair of his chest was becoming thicker and continued into a trail across his stomach that lead to his groin. Robb shivered, but instead of adjusting himself drank more wine. Robb twirled his glass idly for a moment, watching the swirl of the wine.

"My mother thinks you don't care for your bastard, but your words suggest otherwise," Robb noted.

"Our relationship is not your affair," Roose replied. 

Robb laughed. The wine had already helped.

"Now I've done you offence as well. Sit next to me as you would have my father and Robert Baratheon. Share my wine if you wish."

Sitting alongside Robert Baratheon had been quite the tedium. Eddard may have looked down on Roose, but Robert Baratheon was boorish. Eddard was insufferable, but he was not loud.

None the less, Roose obliged the young king. The fire was pleasant and the boy's beast had taken to snoring. Roose was no closer to the mystery of Robb's seclusion, but he was yet to be mauled by some superstitious legend perhaps invented to bulk the Stark's political position, so the night was at a net gain.

Robb sighed and continued drinking. He and Roose now sat abreast, Robb looking into the fire and Roose looking at Robb. The shadows danced across Robb's torso and he'd begun to sweat. Goosepimples formed on his arms, his ruddy hair standing tall. He'd become leaner and sculpted over their marches, the pertness of his musculature emphasized by his erect pink nipples. His chest would spasm nicely if freed from the skin.

Robb placed his wine cup down and instead rest his hand on Roose's thigh.

"You and my father... A man makes one mistake and it follows him forever," Robb murmured. “I hold Jon close as a true brother, but it seems unfair. If only he could be my mother’s son...”

Roose looked down at Robb’s hand. Robb had begun idly tap at Roose’s leg.

”What are you playing at?” Roose asked, no longer concerned with bluntness.

”I... I’m not sure....” 

Robb had turned red in the face. Roose placed his hand atop Robb’s as to keep the boy fixed in his transgression.

”I feel alone.... There’s something I need.... Everything’s too much.... My father, my sisters, my mother, the men I’m leading.....” 

Robb’s eyes looked red as if he wished to cry.

”You smell sweet. It’s like the wine,” Robb blurted our. “It makes me forget it all for a time.”

Roose wasn’t sure to make of the boy’s outburst. Robb shrugged his way out of the remaining furs and made his way into Roose’s lap, straddling the thigh closest to him.

Robb’s lips were chapped from their days marching, and the developing scruff of his beard brushed against Roose’s chin as Robb placed a naively earnest kiss on Roose’s lips.

Roose didn’t return the gesture. He found kissing a boring affair, though the overall situation had his attention.

Roose placed his hands firmly on Robb’s hips. The young king’s tail and ears dropped in anxiety. Roose had seen the boy undressed in passing but never as fully as he did now. His thighs and groin were covered in red hair and the base of his cock swelled into a round structure, like on that of a dog.

The Dreadfort kept a kennelmaster for the finer points, but Roose was familiar enough with the generalities to recognize Robb may have something deeper in common with the wolves he kept across his banners than his superficial features.

”Is that it, Stark?” Roose whispered, now bringing a gloved hand to Robb’s chin. “Does your mother lock you up once a month because you’re a bitch in heat?”

Robb squirmed uncomfortably, and loomed aside. Roose tugged the boy’s chin back to face him, their lips brushing close.

”Don’t tell... Please don’t.... We haven’t had the wolfblood show in so long and Maester Luwen said there were different kinds— If my men find out— If the Lannisters--“

Tears has now formed in Robb’s eyes and his cock had begun to stiffen though not fully erect. 

Roose had always hoped to take a Stark pelt. This wasn’t exactly what he imagined doing, but it wouldn’t be the first time a Bolton had their way with a Stark King either.

“Go on. You want to kiss me again, no?”

Robb’s tail began to wag as Roose placed his lips against Robb’s again. Robb was bolder this time, lapping softly at Roose’s lips, though Roose refused to deepen the kiss.

”Your tongue is best saved to elsewhere,” Roose chided.

Robb tugged at the collar of Roose’s tunic in frustration, then burrowed his head into Roose’s shoulder.

“I... I’ve never,” Robb murmured.

”You’ve never what, your Grace?”

Roose softly thumbed Robb’s nipple with one hand while keeping the boy held close to him with the other arm now loosely wrapped around him. Robb whined at the touch and let out a small gasp as Roose slowly escalated to pinching and tugging the sensitive nub of flesh.

”Lord Bolton, please don’t make me say it,” Robb continued.

”Did Lady Catelyn keep you on a short leash?” Roose asked. Robb’s only answer was continuing to burrow his face against Roose.

Eddard brought his bastard home to raise amongst his children and Catelyn always had a protective spot for Robb. It was likely any discipline came from her end.

Robb placed his hands over Roose’s groin and rubbed clumsily, clearly uncertain what the best way to handle Roose’s member was. 

“Is it big?” Robb asked, now turning his head to look at Roose. He hadn’t imagined Robb would ask him something so comedically stereotypical.

”It’s not notable in either way. We don’t keep ourselves like other Northmen so though. A Bolton’s first flaying is in someways his own,” Roose explained.

Robb squeezed at him with a bit more boldness, the direct attention stirring an erection more than any of Robb’s attempts at foreplay had.

“I suppose it would seem larger inside you though.”

Robb drew his face back and met Roose’s eyes. He seemed determined now. Robb reached for Roose’s right hand, waiting to see if Roose would stop him.

Robb first gently tugged the leather glove off of Roose, then placed it down between them. He looked down to Roose’s continued erection, then back to Rooseas he took the tips of Roose’s first two fingers into his mouth and sucked.

“Good boy.”

Robb’s tail wagged at the praise. A few kind words went far with most dogs.

Robb licked at the underside of Roose’s fingers, before taking them deeper into his mouth. The back of his throat flexed as he took them deep as he could.

Robb’s mouth was warm and pleasant, the contractions of his throat reminding Roose of how it might feel to make his way through the boy’s heart or the spasms of his diaphragm. The blood pounded stronger at the base of his cock, ready for every tight pulsing opening Robb would learn to offer.

“Would you like to be my lap dog, Stark?” Roose teased.

Robb made a soft noise and nodded as he sucked. He began to grind a bit in Roose’s lap, his own cock leaking with pre-cum.

“More than being king? You’d rather eat from my hand and warm my bed?” Roose asked, playing with the curls of Robb’s hair. “Would you take my cock as well then? Serve me while my new wife is delicate with a Bolton in her?”

Robb slowly drew Roose’s fingers from his mouth. He'd do well with a cock, but tonight was not the time for it.

“Please,” Robb murmured, his lips still pink and glossy with spit. “I want your seed in me.”

Roose let out a reflexive puff of breath in amusement.

“So the Stark bitch, wants to be bred?”

Robb moaned as if Roose had touched him. There were tears in his eyes previously, but now he had begun to cry properly.

“Please, Lord Bolton, please bend me over the bed and breed me like a bitch.”

Finally a command from his young king that he wasn’t loathe to follow.

“Go on then. Take to bed and present yourself, your Grace.”

Robb drew back from Roose’s lap and looked briefly to Greywind who was still fast asleep. Roose followed suit in standing, watching Robb take to bed.

Robb propped himself up on his elbows, and arched his back as best he could, peeking back over his shoulder. His hips were narrow, but his legs had a pleasing tone to the musculature. A slick pre-cum like fluid had begun to drip down his thighs as well.

Roose wasn’t sure what to make of that, but Robb’s anatomy was clearly different from other men. It was also unclear if his tail would make the process clumsy, but it added to the overall charm of his submissive stance.

“You’re wet?” Roose asked, taking his belt off and adjusting his trousers. Likely some ancestor had placed his cock somewhere far stranger than this, if not Roose’s own bastard.

Robb nodded and swayed his hip. He seemed a different person to a certain extent, like he were in a fever dream or dulled by milk of the poppy.

Roose put aside his gloves and propped his erection against Robb’s entrance, the length from his anus then down his perineum having grown slick. He held Robb’s head down with one hand, while the other gripped his bony hips.

“We used to siege Winterfell. You must’ve heard the stories from Maester Luwen or that old woman your father kept,” Roose began. Robb arched his hips further and rubbed against Roose.

“Yes, my lord,” Robb answered. His breath was haggard, and his voice weak.

“I’m afraid we prefer trophies to captives,” Roose continued, shifting his hips to better begin penetration. “No matter how suitable.”

Robb whimpered as Roose made the first push to enter him. It shouldn’t have been as easy as it was. He was tight still, but Robb’s body yielded to him with little resistance.

“Take me to the Dreadfort, and put a Bolton in me,” Robb grunted, pressing into Roose’s thrusts. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

“You’d let Lord Eddard Stark go unavenged, and leave your sisters to the lions down south?”

“That’s not—“ Robb started, only to interrupted by Roose pushing harder then he had previously. Robb let out a pathetic yelp.

“You asked for this, Stark,” Roose added. Eddard would have been ashamed to see his eldest like this. Aerys Targaryen had made swift work of Rickard and Brandon, but seeing to the final subjugation of the Starks was Roose’s right alone. 

Roose gripped Robb’s hair tight, and rocked against Robb with greater urgency, forcing the boy’s back into a higher arch. Robb’s insides had grown wetter as they coupled, making it easier to drive deeper inside him, like he was built to be possessed and split open like a tender fruit. 

Robb had grown sweaty and flushed, his hair stuck to his temples. His thighs began to twitch erratically and he let out another sad whine.

Robb clenched tighter around his cock, and groaned far louder than previously, his voice cracking. Greywind’s ears perked up at the sound, and it was likely loud enough that Olyvar could hear it. Robb continued to wail as his body shook, then slumped forward slightly and let out a sigh.

Roose didn’t bother stopping. Robb’s breath slowed and motions grew increasingly limp. The boy had spilled himself quickly. 

“You’ve made a mess of Lord Hoster’s sheets,” Roose commented. Robb nodded along.

“It doesn’t matter. I need you to finish in me... Please.”

Robb said the last word with a quiet urgency. 

“Beg for it, and perhaps I will, bitch.”

Roose rocked himself at the depth of his thrust, rather than making an exaggerated longer motion. 

 “I’ll be a good little wolf for you. I’ll sit by your feet, and sleep in your bed, and you could even put me in the kennels, just please spill inside me,” Robb murmured.

Roose wouldn’t leave something valuable in the kennels lest his men, or his bastard, be tempted, but it was an enthusiastic offer none the less. What a surprising evening it had been, discovering Lord Eddard’s heir was little more than a whore with a tail. Robb had kept it curled to the side, but it added to his aura of youthful charm alongside his perky ears. 

“What about Winterfell?" Roose asked. Would it be more amusing to take the boy in his childhood bed or his parent's chambers? The crypts were his favorite idea, but it would take a long game to earn that distinct pleasure. That would be the place for when he grew weary of the diversion, or when Robb grew too inconvenient to keep. The latter was inevitable of course, he would always carry the right to inherit. The time would come to stretch and tan the boy like any other beast or a few of the Starks that came before him.

"What if wanted you in the crypts or before the Gods? Would you give me that?"

Robb nodded.

 "Yes, Lord Bolton," he panted, his voice wavering. 

He'd make Robb swear his submission before the Gods, his arms bound behind his back. If it were spring, he could have the boy facedown in the dirt, then slit his throat from behind as he came. He'd most likely end the young Stark's life by skinning him, splitting his smooth stomach and chest open first, but Robb would likely prefer to be killed during something coital. 

It was one of his better orgasms. Better than the first time with his new wife had been, though she had done her best. Roose let himself remain sheathed in Robb for a moment, before pulling out.

"I can feel it inside me...." Robb said softly. He slumped forward as Roose released him, sweaty and spent. 

Roose adjusted his clothes as a creak came from the door. A pale faced Olyvar Frey entered the room. Hopefully he was alone. Roose had no patience for a second boy's tomfoolery.

"What are you doing, Frey?"

Olyvar looked surprised by Roose's nonchalance. Robb however, was terrified, and threw several blankets across himself.

"What are you doing? Taking arms against the king is treason!" he exclaimed.

"Our king is well. You may ask him yourself," Roose replied. Olyvar was hysterical. He would have to be dealt with.

Olyvar began to move back to the door.

"Come kneel before your king. You'll see he has no qualms. Except, perhaps, your intrusion," Roose continued.

"I only take orders from, his Grace," Olyvar sneered.

Roose looked back to Robb. 

"Your grace, tell Olyvar to kneel before you. Assure him of your wellbeing," Roose ordered. 

"Do as Lord Bolton has said. Come here."

Robb's voice shook as he spoke. Roose forced a smile in an attempt to comfort the young king, though he was often told his smiling had the opposite effect.

Olyvar approached warily, and knelt before where Robb lay. Robb sat up to meet him, and took Olyvar's hand as a gesture of good faith.

Roose had no interest in Olyvar himself, but complicity would drive the boy into silence. He had a great love for Robb, but Olyvar was a Frey, they tended to either cowardice or silence. Either would suit his needs.

"Show our King the esteem you hold him in. Kiss his hand."

Olyvar turned a sudden bright red. Robb gave him a lazy smile in return, as Olyvar's lips met the back of Robb's hand. While the two boys were distracted, Roose placed his boot along Olyvar's back.  

Olyvar let out a grunt of surprise, and Robb's hand fell from his grasp.

Olyvar fell to his hands and knees. If he fought it, the Frey could likely squirm away, but instead he looked to Robb for guidance. 

"My audience with the king was not finished, nor was his pleasure. Take our king into your mouth. Down to the base," Roose commanded. Olyvar let out a small yelp. 

Robb looked tentative, but something in the scenario had led his member to stir again.

"You know as my squire, I would never hurt you," said Robb. Robb reached for Olyvar with both hands and held his cheeks. 

Roose released Olyvar, who slowly crawled forward. He lay his head on Robb's lap and looked up at him, then back to the bulb at the base of his erection. The tenderness between them was bothersome, but if Olyvar harbored some secret fondness that aided Roose's cause so be it. Perhaps that was why he had let Roose finish if he suspected trouble. A pity for him, that his affections were forced, but Roose had no qualms with that. There were far crueler ways of ensuring his silence.

Olyvar opened his mouth as wide as he could, then closed it once he settled midway down Robb's cock. It was a rather inelegant way to start things, but he was likely a virgin just as Robb, till recently, had been.

”I said to the base, Frey,” Roose reminded him, watching Robb’s eyes flutter closed.

Olyvar gagged loudly as he continued downward, struggling to fit the knot between his lips.

”You’re so warm,” Robb sighed. “Please don’t stop.”

Robb’s hips bucked and he tightened his thighs around Olyvar’s face.

”Is this what Starks choose their squires for now? Is this a Riverlands tradition your mother brought with her?”

Robb shook his head.

”You know Walder Frey would never....” Robb replied.

”Would never what? Never have one of his countless spawn spread their legs for a political alliance?” Roose interrupted. “I have a bag of silver, and a plump young wife that speak otherwise.”

Roose lay a hand on Olyvar’s shoulder, and leaned towards his ear.

”Our king has soiled himself and his sheets. When you’re finished, you will clean and shave him. He will look a proper sovereign by morning,” Roose whispered, gently squeezing Olyvar for emphasis.

Olyvar made an affirmative noise.

Roose looked back to Robb, placing his hand underneath his chin. Robb whimpered at the touch.

”Please don’t leave. I want you to see me finish,” Robb sulked.

”I will stay. The next full moon I will have you like this again. You will take no other men to bed. If you have need of me at other times, your squire can send for me,” Roose decided. Robb began to moan at this, the noise higher pitched and timed with the bobbing motions of Olyvar’s head.

Roose leaned over Olyvar and let his lips hang close to Robb’s.

”I’ve grown weary. Spill for me, Stark bitch.”

Olyvar let out an unhappy wet noise as Robb rocked faster against him, repeating Roose’s title between grunts.

”Swallow it, Olyvar, or you’ll have another mess to clean,” chided Roose.

Olyvar drew off of Robb’s cock, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

”Perhaps that glass of wine we spoke of before? Something to cleanse the palate,” Roose offered, gesturing in the direction of Robb’s abandoned drink and the bottle of wine.

Olyvar nodded glumly.

”If it pleases you, my lord.”

”It does. Take a glass and begin the king’s bath,” replied Roose. 

Robb placed a tender kiss on Olyvar’s head.

”You did well,” Robb sighed.

Roose narrowed his eyes, and watched as Olyvar began his preparations.

”Stay the night with me, Lord Bolton,” Robb requested. “I feel oddly as if you’ll disappear.”

Roose stroked Robb behind his ears. 

“It’s a single night. It wold rouse suspicion,” Roose explained.

“Besides, your Grace,” Roose added with an upwards twitch of his lips. “I fear you could not lose me if you tried.”


End file.
